


Watch It Grows

by seventeensteps



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Acorn - Freeform, Hamfast POV, M/M, Plant your trees watch them grow, Post-Battle of Five Armies, kind of no Thorin in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:05:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventeensteps/pseuds/seventeensteps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamfast still remembers that day Bilbo Baggins returned to Bag End.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch It Grows

Hamfast still remembers that day Bilbo Baggins returned to Bag End.

Dear Bilbo ran up the way to that round green door, pushing, shoving, yelling at the hobbits carrying all the chairs and tables and dishes and bowls which he recognized so well.

(Hamfast did try to stop the auction, but at the end he learned that the power of greed was appallingly terrifying.)

“What are you doing? Stop. Stop!”

Bilbo told the auctioneer that _yes, he was indeed Bilbo Baggins of Bag End_ , but when the other hobbit was doubtful, he dug up one tattered document, and walked up to the door.

He saw Bilbo froze when the name _Thorin Oakenshield_ was said, the hand on the doorknob tightened a bit.

He looked angry that the home his father had built was invaded; the things his mother had made were taken.

But still, Hamfast thought that the anger pouring out of Bilbo wasn’t quite like what he’d imagined. Somehow it looked mild. To others, it may seem like Bilbo was just resigned at the situation happening, but to Hamfast, Bilbo appeared to be really tired, and…sad—the kind of sadness that fit under his skin, as if he’d been wearing it for a while now.

And suddenly Hamfast thought it was eight years ago all over again.

\----

It was worse, and better at the same time. Or maybe ‘better’ was not the right word.

Bilbo seemed…more reserved on the outside. He talked to other hobbits if asked or if someone said something to him first, but never the one who started, except maybe ‘good morning’ and ‘thank you’, and he smiled a lot, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

What was worse was that he looked so frail now, and there were dark circles under those deep blue eyes. His friend barely went anywhere. All he did these days was just sitting in his garden. He’d tried to invite Bilbo to dinner with him a few times, but was politely refused every time. As much as he could do was offering him some bread and pie, which Bilbo reluctantly accepted. He hoped Bilbo would at least eat them out of politeness.

\----

One day, he was on the way to Bilbo’s garden, planning to tend to his plants like always despite being courteously protested, when he noticed Bilbo crouching on the grass, watering a freshly sprouted seedling in a gardening pot.

Curious, Hamfast started towards Bilbo.

“Mister Bilbo.” he called.

“Oh, Master Hamfast, good morning,” Bilbo said when he saw it was him, setting the watering can down, and got up.

“Good morning, Mister Bilbo,” Hamfast smiled and looked down at the little green leaves shooting from a thin stem, “if I may ask, what it is you are growing? Would you like me to help?”

“Oh, thank you, Master Hamfast,” Bilbo smiled, though it looked strained, “but it’s quite all right. I need to, um, grow this…oak seedling myself.”

Bilbo said the last part with a frown like it pained him to say it out loud, and glanced down a bit. Hamfast noticed then that his eyes were actually red-rimmed, and chided himself for intruding the lad on his private moment.

“I see, but if there’s anything I can help, please say it,” he said. “Now I must go. Your potatoes are waiting for me.”

Bilbo shook his head a little, but now with the small beginning of an actual smile, “thank you, Master Hamfast.”

He nodded, “you’re welcome,” and waved at Bilbo, before turning and walking to the other side of the garden, returning the privacy back to Bilbo once more.

\----

A month had passed, and the little oak was mightier than ever. (Hamfast wondered if it was because the acorn was that of a healthy oak tree or because of the fact that Bilbo was a wonderful gardener. Maybe Both.) It looked as if it was outgrowing the pot, with much darker and bigger leaves. It needed to be transplanted to another place with more space for it to grow.

From the look on Bilbo’s face, he must have been thinking quite the same thing right now.

He glanced at Bilbo from where he was loosening the soil for a new plot of tomatoes in case he wanted some help. Transplanting could be a difficult task. He didn’t offer, though. He knew Bilbo would want to do all the works himself. He had begun to suspect that the acorn was some kind of a memento of the Journey Bilbo had set out on all those months ago, and did not want to disrespect his friend’s wish to cherish the memories again.

Bilbo kneeled there, looking at his little oak tree for a moment, touching the stem, brushing at the soil, before he got up, the pot in his hands, and walked away to the direction of the hill above Bag End.

\----

It had been that kind of year where the sky in the Shire wasn’t as blue as it was supposed to be, and today was the darkest, but now even the scary-looking blue was barely visible. The clouds were getting thicker and thicker, and the air was so heavy with water that Hamfast thought he could almost taste it.

Hobbits were scattering and scurrying to their homes when the first drop of rain fell. Hamfast could see some moms trying to find their hobbitlings, dashing this way and that, worry in their eyes; scared proper hobbits rushing back from the market, droplets of dirt on their coats while he himself was hurrying back from making sure Bell had returned home safely.

Out of the corner of his eyes, something rushed past everyone towards the general direction of the hill above Bag End. _Oh, isn’t that…_

“Mister Bilbo!” Hamfast called, and ran after him. “Where are you going?”

Bilbo slowed down, glancing back over his shoulder, “to the oak!” He yelled over the sound of the wind and rain. “I’m going to cover it—won’t survive this storm by itself!”

They ran up the hill together; the rain was beating down harder and harder as they approach the oak. As soon as Bilbo was there, he dropped to his knees, ignoring the mud seeping through his pantlegs, hunched over the wavering little oak, trying to shield it from the wild wind and harsh rain, and started putting decaying leaves and bark over the soil around the oak. Hamfast saw that Bilbo’d also brought a tall enough gardening pot with him, but it wouldn’t be able to hold.

“I’ll go get some rocks! The storm’s too heavy, it—“

“Thank you, Hamfast!” Bilbo nodded, quickly pushing his wet curls back behind his ear, eyes focused on the task at hand.

Hamfast ran, eyes strained for the shape of rocks big enough. He picked up as much as he could carry—which was to say, not that much at all.

Bilbo was leaning on the upturned pot when he went back. Hamfast helped him placed the biggest rock on top and the smaller ones around the base.

“I hope this holds!” He shouted, raindrops shooting down at them like arrows. “Now we should go back! If we stay here any longer, we might catch a terrible cold, Mister Bilbo! This kind of weather is wrong!”

“You go, Master Hamfast!” Bilbo stood up and tightened his coat around him. “I’ll stay here a little longer; see if the pot stays!”

“But you’ll be sick!” His skin already looked pale, stood out in stark contrast to the night around him.

“Please go back to your home, Hamfast! If you become ill, I’ll blame myself!”

Hamfast could see it in his eyes, that Took side of him. Bilbo wouldn’t come back with him now. “You mustn’t make yourself ill, Mister Bilbo!” He could only hope Bilbo would know his limit. That oak tree would either help keep him going or kill him.

Hamfast turned around and went down the hill, alone and worried.

\----

The storm passed the next day just before sunrise. Hamfast came out of Number Three, Bagshot Row that morning with an ache in his back, and thanked Eru for the sunlight once more.

Hamfast decided to go check on the oak first. After last evening, he wanted to make sure that the little tree had survived. He kind of worried about Bilbo.

He pulled the coat around him, the morning air breezy and cool after the storm, and headed up the familiar path. As soon as he could see the top of the hill where the oak stood, he could also see a figure kneeling beside that oak. “Good morning, Mister Bilbo,” he said.

“Good morning, indeed,” Bilbo looked up and smiled a full smile he hadn’t seen in a while; however, he noticed that his cheeks were flushed, eyes red, and a tad dazed. Bilbo looked feverish. He guessed Bilbo must have come out here as soon as the storm relented, which was over three hours ago. “Look at the stubborn little oak here, Master Hamfast,” he giggled, “as fine as ever.”

The oak was standing proudly with deep green leaves, shining with dewdrops, swaying slightly, glowing like a child praised by its dad.

“Undoubtedly,” he said, “and it survived the storm because of you, Mister Bilbo. Now, you come with me. Let’s get you some more sleep, hmm?” he patted Bilbo’s shoulder. “You need it.”

Bilbo, however, didn’t move and, in that moment, seemed to not notice his hand. “This oak will grow into a strong oak tree,” he said, eyes far, far away.

It was times like this that Hamfast wondered again what had happened to him while he was gone. Bilbo looked so sad, and wistful. “Of course, Bilbo.”

The hobbit looked down, and with a shaky breath, stood up. “Sleep, right?” he tried to smile, maybe to assure Hamfast that he was fine, but instead it just made him look smaller.

They walked to Bag End together; it was a miracle Bilbo didn’t faint. Bilbo went to his room and thanked him for everything, and he said it was fine since he’d barely done anything at all, which in actuality was true. Hamfast sat in there until he was sure that Bilbo was asleep; then went to fetch a healer. Better safe than sorry, his Pa’d always told him.

\----

Bilbo woke again that afternoon, his color nearly back to normal, his temperature still higher than what it should be, but the healer said he’d be fine now, just drink that medicine he gave him.

He made Bilbo porridge and told him about what the healer had said. His friend smiled softly, apologized for the inconvenience he’d caused, and then thanked him again. This time he said, “you’re always welcome,” because that was the truth.

He told Bilbo that he should eat and sleep a lot after this, and take care of himself also. He told him that he’d gone and checked on the oak while Bilbo was sleeping, and it was still green and healthy as last time. Bilbo relaxed ever so slightly, but he noticed anyway.

What Hamfast didn’t tell him was that when he came check on him, he saw tears falling down the corner of his eyes.

He also didn’t tell him about what he’d said in his sleep. That one word—or should he call it ‘name’?—over and over.

_Thorin_

\----

It was Bilbo’s first birthday since coming back from the Journey, exactly three months later. Bilbo didn’t really throw a party on a day like this; he just made a lot of food and desserts and invited his close friends and relatives, and, before the Journey, it wasn’t like that many hobbits came and wished Bilbo a happy life and an ever-growing garden, but today, the only hobbits who’d paid a visit were Drogo and Primula, Hamfast himself, Esmeralda, and the Old Took, in that order.

He saw Lobelia walked past Bag End four times in the last half-hours, but surely that didn’t count.

Bilbo just shrugged, “I don’t like many people coming here anyway,” and poured four cups of apple tea for Drogo, Primula, Hamfast, and himself. Both Esmeralda and the Old Took had to go do something urgent today, so they couldn’t stay.

“They couldn’t face you, Bilbo, since they practically steal from you,” Primula spoke, hands cutting the ham into thin slices; then reached for the honey jar which Drogo handed it to her. “Thank you,” her eyes sparkled.

“Well, good for them,” Bilbo gave a quick small smile while cutting a slice of bread and then spread some cherry jam on it.

They ate and talked and drank, and after the third round of tea, Bilbo brought out the beer, and they moved to the living room. They managed to not be dead drunk this time.

Bilbo went with them to the door, always the very respectable hobbit, but then when he also put on his coat, Hamfast was confused. “Oh? You going somewhere, Cousin?” Drogo asked the question for him.

“I’m going to go smoke some of this,” Bilbo held up his pipe-weed, “up there,” and waved to the direction of the hill above Bag End.

“Have a good time, then,” Drogo grinned. They said their goodbyes and hugged. Bilbo smiled again before headed for the hill. Hamfast walked down from Bag End with Drogo and Primula, and as he was about to turn right for Bagshot Row, Drogo stopped him.

He appeared a bit distressed, glancing to where Bilbo’d gone to, and just when Hamfast was going to ask what was wrong, he said, “Do you know what’d happened to Bilbo?”

“Oh, he just wanted to smoke, I think,” he answered.

Drogo shook his head. “I meant, he’s sad, Hamfast,” he sighed. “Something must have happened to him while he was gone with those noisy fellows. Blasted dwarves.”

“I truly don’t know the cause of his sadness, Drogo. It’s like he’s lost…,” Hamfast was quiet for a moment, before saying, “no, I don’t know.”

Drogo looked at him, and then sighed again, “all right, good night, Hamfast.”

“Good night,” Primula said quietly.

“Good night, Drogo, Primula,” he nodded at them; then, finally, turned right for Bagshot Row.

\----

Every year since then was like that. After dinner with them, Bilbo would go out to the Oak tree with his pipe-weed, and sit there for a while. One time when he went near them because he’d forgot to tell Bilbo something, Hamfast heard some bits of what he was saying, as if he was talking to someone, and decided that what he wanted to say could wait until tomorrow.

\----

When Frodo moved in with Bilbo the first day, he took the hobbitling up the hill, and sat there with him under the big Oak there, telling him the adventure of the brave Oak tree, until the child stopped crying.

\----

It was his son who told him one day.

“Pa, you know, the Oak tree has a name,” Samwise said while helping him water a plot of carrots. “Mister Frodo told me.”

“Oh, really?” Hamfast said.

“Yes, Pa, he said its name is…,um, Thor- something,” his son frowned. “I still remembered it ten minutes ago.”

Hamfast chuckled, “you can always go and ask him again, laddie. Now, come look at this cucumber after you finish with the carrots.”

“All right, Pa.”

\----

Hamfast also remembers the night Dear Bilbo Baggins disappeared from the Shire.

Bilbo who looked exceptionally young for his age, 111 years old, threw a big party and invited all the hobbits in the Shire. He said his words, bid us farewell, and then suddenly _poof_. Gone.

A day before the party, Bilbo’d said to him that it was time. When Hamfast asked him, _time for what?_ , he didn’t answer, just smiled.

He also said that he missed the mountain, with a glint of longing and determination he hadn’t seen for quite a long time now.

That afternoon he saw Bilbo sitting under the Oak tree. He was smoking his pipe-weed, and after the third breath, he put it down, picked up one of the freshly fallen acorn around him on the grass, and put it in his pocket. He stood suddenly and looked up at the Oak tree, now remarkably tall and strong despite still being relatively young for an oak tree, with wide, thick branches, making a large shadow for children to play and adults to rest. He seemed to be saying something again, and Hamfast was about to turn back when Bilbo leaned in on his tiptoes and planted a kiss on one of the lowest arms.

Hamfast felt his face heat up; like he was intruding on an intimate moment.

He quickly turned around and walked back down to the garden, recalling one thing Bilbo said a while back, but he didn’t get it then.

_“Majestic, isn’t it?” Bilbo said, looking up at the Oak tree, eyes full of something tender and sweet._

Hamfast thinks he gets it now.

 


End file.
